Legend of Mace by Daniel J. Williams

do?”
    “Let’s see if we can get one alive.”
    Lisa questioned his logic. "Bring them back to camp?”
    “I want to see what we’re dealing with.”
    “Sounds risky. They’re infected.”
    “We’ll isolate them. Roger seemed pretty confident in the antidote.”
    Another gunshot sounded. Dirt kicked up a hundred yards in front of them.
    “They’re stupid,” one of the boys said.
    “We still need to be careful.” Mace pointed to a path to the right. “Miles and Dolphin, head around to the right. Let’s see how jumpy they get.”
    “Right,” Miles said. They were both named after Alamo fighters.
    “The rest of us will come at them from the front. I can’t imagine they have much ammo left.”
    “We could use the ammo,” Lisa said.
    “That we could. Ready boys?” asked Mace.
    “Hell yeah,” said Dolphin enthusiastically.
    “Go!”
    The dirt-bikes screeched off as Miles and Dolphin peeled out. Another gunshot sounded and another clump of dirt kicked up far out of range.
    “Let’s go get them,” Mace said, annoyed, “before they waste all their goddamn ammo.”
    Racing towards them seconds later, Mace saw the dirt-trail from Miles and Dolphin as they came around from the side.
    As he drew closer, Mace saw the war paint on the Plaguers faces. It looked like smeared blood. Only one held a shotgun.
    Mace slowed the Harley down as he approached. Still a hundred feet out, the man continued to point the shotgun in his direction. Mace stopped the bike. Lisa and the other boys pulled up behind him.
    The buggy’s engine rumbled as Mace pulled his Beretta out and took careful aim. The guy with the shotgun didn’t move. Mace fired. A split-second later the gunman toppled over.
    “Nice shot!” one of the boys yelled. Mace placed the gun back in his holster.
    The three remaining Plaguers screamed in outrage and barrelled towards them on foot.
    Mace waited. The Plaguers' eyes looked completely mad. Climbing off the bike, Mace set the kickstand.
    Once they were ten feet away, he pulled the machete out of the sheath on his bike. Swinging around at head level, the machete sliced deep through the neck of the first man. Blood sprayed from the wound, covering Mace. The man’s head toppled backwards, connected by a thin flap of flesh, and his body immediately tumbled after it. As the next one came at them, Lisa jumped in front of Mace, bumping him as she tried to get in on the action. Mace grinned sadistically as she shoved a long dagger through the Plaguer's skull.
    The boys aimed slingshots at the last one.
    “Don’t kill him!” Mace yelled.
    They let up on the bands and snapped them. Both rocks connected to the head and the last man dropped.
    Miles and Dolphin pulled up on the dirt-bikes.
    “That sucks,” yelled Dolphin loudly as he climbed off the bike and stared at the corpses. “We didn’t get to kill anybody!”
     
    Back at the camp, the man babbled incoherently as he sat blindfolded and isolated in the convent office. His hands were tied behind his back and secured to the chair. Mace and Woody walked in to interrogate him.
    “Who’s there?” the man demanded. “I want to speak to the president!”
    Mace smirked at Woody. “The president of what?” Mace asked.
    “The president of the United States! His minions have been trying to kill us and I want answers!” the man bellowed.
    Mace sat in front of him, his nerves tingling with anticipation. “We’re not with the president. We’re on our own. What’s your name?”
    The man yelled, “Name, rank and serial number!”
    “I’ll only ask nicely one more time,” Mace said with some irritation. “What’s your name?”
    “The owl is on the roof!”
    Mace glanced at Woody and shook his head. Staring blankly at the man, he asked, “Why is the owl on the roof?”
    “To snatch the rat that runs through the woods! The rat thinks he knows but he doesn’t.”
    It was obvious the guy was bonkers. For some reason, Mace decided to play along for